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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24558631">and i should’ve kept my silence</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwasfollowingyou/pseuds/iwasfollowingyou'>iwasfollowingyou</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>kiss me on the mouth and set me free [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Succession (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(kind of), (mostly), (once again very brief), Angst, Canon Compliant, Confessions, Episode Related, Homophobic Language, Hook-Up, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Roman Roy is Gay, Sequel, how many times can i use the word "fuck" in one fic, i just want roman to have a happy ending, the answer is a lot, this is entirely self-indulgent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:27:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,332</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24558631</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwasfollowingyou/pseuds/iwasfollowingyou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He had let himself give it one chance, and that had been all his stupid brain had needed to start needing more, like Roman was a drug that Stewy had let himself try, and now he was constantly chasing the high, constantly trying to break himself of the habit.</p><p>He needs a cigarette. He needs a drink. He needs to be anywhere but here.</p><p>Roman is staring at him, apparently speechless for once in his goddamn life. For once in his goddamn life, he doesn’t have some snarky comment. Stewy wishes he did.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Stewy Hosseini/Roman "Romulus" Roy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>kiss me on the mouth and set me free [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775047</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>and i should’ve kept my silence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i didn't go into this planning to make it a sequel but it just sort of became one because i wanted to continue this idea. title is from the song sex by eden because it fits incredibly well with this fic</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He sets himself limits. He can drink every other night, plus the weekends. He can have three drinks during the week, more on the weekend. He can do coke every other day, but only one line on the nights he drinks. He can hook up with the same person twice—three times at an absolute maximum.</p><p>He sets himself limits, because he knows not to push them. He’s tested all of them, and each time was a disaster. He sets himself limits because he knows better.</p><p>He can sleep with Roman three times. This is the second.</p><p>The first time was Rhomboid. He had thought, maybe, if he hooked up with Roman one time, if he let himself give in just once, the urge would go away entirely. If he slept with Roman, and it was as awful and awkward as he expected it to be, then he could mark it down as a bump in the road and move on with his life.</p><p>Of course, it hadn’t worked. He’s not sure why he expected it would.</p><p>He tried to tell himself that he didn’t plan it this time around—but then again, he hadn’t planned it last time, either. He hadn’t shown up at Rhomboid expecting to go home with Roman. It had just kind of happened. He had been high, and drunk, and severely annoyed by Roman’s pushiness, and he couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t plan to sleep with Roman. He doesn’t think anyone has ever planned to sleep with Roman. It’s one of those things that you just sort of fall into.</p><p>He didn’t plan it, but it happened anyway. And then it happened again.</p><p>The bar was dark and crowded, and no one there had any idea who he was. He was a hair past tipsy, and Roman was right there, and it was easy. In the moment, it had made sense. He had asked Roman to get drinks. Roman had said yes. It wasn’t a date—Stewy almost pukes at the thought—but they were out, together, alone. They were both drinking. Stewy didn’t think he was overstepping his bounds when he grabbed Roman’s waist, pulled him in, and whispered, “Let’s get out of here.” Again. Because he didn’t learn his lesson the last time.</p><p>If Roman had said no, they could have avoided this thing entirely. So it’s partially Roman’s fault, he decides.</p><p>And now Roman is in his bed again. They’re both silent. Stewy has been staring at the ceiling for an hour, trying to force himself to close his eyes and fall asleep. The quicker he falls asleep, the quicker morning will come, the quicker Roman will leave, and the quicker Stewy can go back to being miserable.</p><p>Roman is too still to actually be asleep, but he’s faking it pretty well. Every few minutes, Stewy thinks that he should probably say something. He doesn’t. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. He knows there’s nothing that Roman wants to hear from him.</p><p>Stewy links his fingers together and stretches his arms out. He sits up and rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. Roman still doesn’t move.</p><p>The living room is dark. Stewy walks over to the piano and sits down on the bench. His fingers rest on the keys for a moment. He takes a breath, then starts playing, soft and slow—Liebestraum No. 3. It’s a piece he’s familiar with; his fingers find the notes without him even needing to think about it. As he plays, he feels his heartbeat slowing. He closes his eyes and moves with the music. </p><p>He knows the sound will carry through the apartment—it’s one of the reasons why he found himself an apartment with plenty of open space and bought a grand piano to fill it. When he can’t sleep, or when he needs to destress, or when he’s in a mood and can’t shake it, he sits down and plays anything that comes to mind—pieces he learned as a kid, pop songs he figures out by ear, more difficult pieces he challenges himself with when he needs a distraction. It stops him from needing anything else to take the edge off. </p><p>He knows that Roman can hear him playing from the bedroom, and if Roman had actually been asleep, Stewy would have worried about waking him, but for now, he can play as he pleases.</p><p>He holds the last chord for as long as he can, then lets it die off. Holding his hands lightly above the keys, he stares over the back of the piano and out the window—the piano is situated in the corner of the living room, where the two full walls of windows meet, and Stewy can look out over brightly lit streets and buildings. There are still cars passing by far below, and people stumbling down the sidewalks, just like always.</p><p>Stewy lets himself zone out for a few moments, then pushes himself up off of the bench and returns to the bedroom. Roman doesn’t look up as he walks in. Stewy creeps carefully to his side of the bed and sits down on the edge of it. The mattress shifts slightly beneath his weight, and Roman makes a soft noise. The sheets rustle, and then everything is still again. Stewy slides beneath the covers.</p><p>Now Roman is actually asleep—his breathing has slowed to a steady rhythm, and his shoulders have relaxed. Stewy rolls onto his side, his back to Roman.</p><p>He can sleep with Roman three times.</p><p>He can sleep with Roman one more time. This can only happen one more time. He can only let it happen one more time.</p><p>Stewy closes his eyes and plays Liebestraum in his head until he finally drifts off.</p>
<hr/><p>“This isn’t gonna become a fucking habit,” Roman says as he ties his shoes.</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“Once was bad enough.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“We’re not—”</p><p>“I know, Roman,” Stewy says tiredly. “Just a one-time thing, right?”</p><p>He thinks he sees the corner of Roman’s mouth twitch before he rolls his eyes. </p><p>“No one knows about this, right?” </p><p>Stewy looks at him blankly. “Yeah, no, Rome, I told Kendall, and your dad, and Shiv, and—”</p><p>“Fuck you.”</p><p>“No one knows about it.” He shakes his head. “This isn’t—I’m not gonna go around letting people know that this happened.”</p><p>It’s not like he wants people to know he fucked Roman Roy. That is information that he would much rather keep to himself. He doesn’t need anyone to know that he slept with a Roy, much less that he slept with <em>Roman</em>. It’s bad enough that he gets tangled up in their family drama (though he admits he brought that upon himself, mostly). As far as anyone else is concerned, he’s only in it for the money. He is only in it for the money.</p><p>If he wanted, he knows, he could turn this into leverage. He could get something out of Roman. He could get a lot out of Roman, if he played his cards right. A small threat here, a casual comment there… It would be so easy.</p><p>It’s almost sick how easily the Roys can be manipulated. He’s known for years how simple it is to get Kendall to do what you want. Not that Stewy has, at least not for anything big. But he <em>could</em>. </p><p>For some reason, Kendall continues to trust him. God knows why. Stewy doesn’t exactly make himself out to be a trustworthy person. And yet Kendall trusts him. It’s going to end up biting Kendall in the ass one day, his blind, unrelenting trust in the worst fucking people. Once someone decides that they’re going to get what they want out of him, there’s no hope. Kendall will go down, and it should be spectacular, but it won’t be. He’ll fizzle out like a dead firework, the ones that shoot off into the sky and come falling back to earth, surrounded by the sparks of other explosions.</p><p>He knows he could do the same to Roman. Roman doesn’t trust as easily, and he doesn’t give it back once someone breaks it. Roman isn’t ruthless in the way Logan or Shiv is. But he knows how to protect himself.</p><p>Stewy, somehow, has made his way past Roman’s walls. He didn’t break them down—he doesn’t think anyone could ever break them down—but somehow, he got to the other side. Roman trusts him. It may be an uncertain trust, but it’s trust all the same. And Stewy knows just how easily he could snap it.</p><p>Roman is studying him as if he can read Stewy’s thoughts. He takes a breath, straightening his shoulders as he lets it out. “Alright. I’ll see you, I guess. At the wedding?”</p><p>Stewy furrows his eyebrows, then drops his head back and groans. “Shit.”</p><p>“Don’t tell me you fucking forgot.”</p><p>“I didn’t.”</p><p>“It sounds like you forgot.”</p><p>“I remembered.”</p><p>“You remember <em>now</em>.”</p><p>“Jesus, Rome.” He sighs. “I’ll see you at the fucking wedding. Get out of here, would you?”</p><p>There’s a tiny smile on Roman’s lips. “Yeah, yeah. Bye, dickwad.”</p><p>“Bye, douchebag.”</p><p>Roman heads for the door, and Stewy flops back onto his mattress with a dramatic sigh. </p><p><em>One time,</em> he thinks. <em>One more.</em></p><p>If he even lets it happen one more time. He knows they’d both be better off if they just ended it here. It’d be a huge weight off of his shoulders, not having to worry about Roman. But he likes to keep his options open, just in case.</p><p>Just in case. He can handle this one more time. All it will take is a tiny bit of self-control.</p>
<hr/><p>Stewy doesn’t necessarily <em>dislike</em> England. It’s also far from his favorite place in the world. It’s too small, too rainy, too full of people with stupid posh accents. He’d much rather be back in New York, or California, or on a yacht somewhere in the middle of the Mediterranean. But he’s here, and he’s dealing with more Roy family bullshit, and he’s not particularly in a wedding mood.</p><p>He doubts that Shiv wants him here. He doubts that any of the family really wants him here—save for Kendall, at least. But Kendall wants him here for his own selfish reasons, not because he thought Stewy would enjoy Shiv’s wedding. He should enjoy it, he thinks—he’s known her for long enough that it’s a major event. But he’s sick of it. He wants to finish this deal and get home.</p><p>The back of his neck is prickling as he leaves Kendall’s room. It feels like someone is watching him. It always feels like someone is watching him when the Roys are around, but something about this castle is especially fucking creepy. He swears the paintings are looking at him. He glances at one out of the corner of his eye—some old, fat white dude in a ridiculous wig, looking like he’s trying to hold in a shit. If Kendall or Roman were around, Stewy would make a crack about family resemblance.</p><p>He figures it must be safe to return to his room. If Logan comes around again, he’ll just pretend to be asleep or something. If all else fails, he can climb out the window. It’s only a two-story drop. He’s survived a couple of those before.</p><p>There’s no one waiting to ambush him. He unlocks the door and steps inside, letting out a sigh of relief.</p><p>He can hear the music from the reception from somewhere on the grounds. He could have gone, he supposes, but he didn’t want to risk running into anyone. There are multiple people here who would like to see him dead. He doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction.</p><p>He takes off his jacket and hangs it up, then unbuttons the top few buttons of his shirt. He needs another drink. There’s nothing in the room. He lets out a groan and flops back onto the bed.</p><p>Who the fuck throws a party in a castle and doesn’t leave liquor in their guest rooms? Assholes, that’s who.</p><p>He’s not risking his life to go down and find something. He’ll have to make do somehow. He can always just jack off and go to sleep. That usually does the trick for getting him out of his weird fucking moods. There’s probably a piano somewhere. He could sneak out and try to find one, but that’d be pretty much the same as trying to find alcohol, so if he was doing that, he might as well get drunk.</p><p>He feels like a prisoner in the castle. He almost laughs at the irony.</p><p>There’s an alarm on his phone set for two in the morning. At some point, he’ll have to track Kendall down again. He doesn’t want to think about that. He’s sick of this fucking family and everyone in it.</p><p>There’s a knock on the door. He flinches and looks at the window, then at the door, then back at the window. It’s an incredibly tempting option. </p><p>He takes a deep breath and heads for the door. At least he can die with some shred of dignity.</p><p>It’s not Logan ready to strangle him. Stewy relaxes, if only the tiniest amount.</p><p>“Hi,” he says carefully. “Shouldn’t you be at the party?”</p><p>Roman glares up at him. “Shouldn’t you?”</p><p>“No, I don’t think I should.”</p><p>“Let me in, douchebag.”</p><p>Stewy steps to the side, and Roman walks into the room. Stewy closes the door quietly, then turns to face him. </p><p>“What’s up?” he asks casually.</p><p>“I’m not responsible for anyone’s death. Not today, motherfucker.”</p><p>Stewy tilts his head. “...that sounds like something you would say if you <em>definitely</em> just fucking killed someone, so would you please let me know if the police are about to come break down my door?”</p><p>“I didn’t kill anyone.” Roman flops back onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling.</p><p>“Is there a possibility that you could have killed someone?”</p><p>“The fucking rocket launch. It was—I forced them to move it up, so that it would launch today, for Shiv’s wedding, and it fucking… it blew up.”</p><p>“Shit.” With everything else going on, he must have missed the news.</p><p>“But no one died!” Roman says, forcefully cheerful. “Just lost a couple thumbs. Maybe an arm.”</p><p>Stewy nods slowly. “Okay, so that’s… good.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Stewy crosses his arms over his chest and watches Roman for a moment. </p><p>“I should be celebrating,” Roman says.</p><p>“Shiv’s wedding, or the fact that you’re not responsible for anyone’s death?”</p><p>“Both, I guess.”</p><p>“Is there a reason you’re not?”</p><p>Roman sighs and drags his hands down his face. “I mean, I was at the reception for a while. Not like anyone fucking noticed me leaving, though. And I, you know—I tried to celebrate the rocket thing.”</p><p>“Tried?”</p><p>“Tabitha and I kinda, you know.” He glances at Stewy, then looks away quickly. “We, uh, went up to my room, and we, you know. We—”</p><p>“Gross,” Stewy says quickly.</p><p>He doesn’t want to think about Roman having sex with a woman. Not that there’s anything <em>wrong</em> with straight sex, but it makes him slightly uncomfortable to think about. Especially when Roman is involved. There are some images that he just does not need in his head.</p><p>“And, interestingly, I am apparently completely incapable of maintaining an erection when it comes to having sex with my girlfriend. And I know <em>nothing</em> about the female body.”</p><p>Stewy opens his mouth to respond, but he doesn’t have a response. He closes his eyes, thinks <em>How the fuck did I get myself into this?</em>, and then opens them again.</p><p>“Funny, isn’t it?” Roman asks. “It’s fucking hilarious.”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re—”</p><p>“I’ve literally never been able to have sex with a fucking girlfriend,” he says, still looking straight up. “I’ve had—I don’t fucking know. Several. Two in the last year. And they’re hot—I mean, they’re, like, objectively <em>hot</em>. Gorgeous women. Great—you know. Whatever. I should be having sex every goddamn night.” He lets out a long, defeated sigh. “I swear there’s something wrong with me on a fundamental level.”</p><p>Stewy holds himself back from making the first comment that comes to mind. He’s standing a few feet away from the bed, lips slightly parted in shock, still attempting to process what the fuck Roman is saying and why the fuck Roman is coming to him of all people for a therapy session. He wonders if he should start charging by the hour.</p><p>“I think there’s something wrong with my sex drive.”</p><p>Stewy laughs in surprise. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with your sex drive.”</p><p>“Then why can’t I ever fucking—fuck? I have a gorgeous fucking girlfriend, and she—I want to, but I don’t—I can’t…”</p><p>A pang of sympathy hits him in the chest. Stewy lets out a breath. He doesn’t think Roman is ready for this conversation. Stewy isn’t ready for this conversation. He thought by now maybe Roman would have figured it out for himself. It’s so painstakingly obvious. What the fuck is Roman missing? </p><p>“Rome…”</p><p>“How did you know?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“That you’re fucking—you’re, you know.” His voice is slightly shaky. Stewy pretends he doesn’t notice.</p><p>“Gay?”</p><p>“If that’s the word you wanna use.”</p><p>“What would you prefer I use?” Stewy snaps. “Do you want me to call myself a faggot? A filthy queer, perhaps? Or maybe a fudgepacker. I know how much you like that one.”</p><p>Roman flinches. “I didn’t mean—”</p><p>“Whatever, Roman.” He shakes his head, then walks over to the window and leans back against the windowsill. The air coming off the glass is cold. “You want to know how I figured out I was gay.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Roman’s voice is small.</p><p>Stewy sighs and fidgets with the button on his cuff. “I don’t know. I just sort of knew, I guess. Trial and error. I went through a lot of girlfriends in college.”</p><p>It’s not quite the truth, but it’s close enough. He had had a lot of female friends, and every once in a while they tried something, but it never went anywhere. He never tried to make it go anywhere. He’s never really been one for casual dating anyway. It was easiest just to hook up with someone and move on. </p><p>If he’s completely honest, he knew from the time he was about fifteen. But boys who like boys don’t get very far.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he says again. “It’s not like—it’s not something that’s easy to explain, dude. I just kind of knew.”</p><p>“Right.”</p><p>He expects Roman to have some snarky comment, to insult him, to hit him with some other old-fashioned slur. It’s not like Stewy isn’t used to it.</p><p>“Roman.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>“I’m just fucking dandy.”</p><p>Stewy still doesn’t want to take responsibility for this. Roman can deny it as much as he wants. Roman can act like he’s straight or like whatever this thing is means nothing to him. He can push it off and try to convince himself that he isn’t actually into men. Stewy’s seen it before. He’s not about to put himself through hell again just to make Roman feel comfortable with himself.</p><p>“Roman,” he says again, cautiously.</p><p>“Still here,” Roman mutters.</p><p>“Do you want to have sex with me?”</p><p>The question hangs in the air. Stewy cringes at himself.</p><p>“Well, that was pretty fucking forward.”</p><p>“Answer the goddamn question.”</p><p>Roman sits up and looks at him. He looks like a complete mess. He looks exhausted.</p><p>“...yeah,” he says eventually. “Yeah, fuck, I do. Fuck.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Stewy stands and walks over to him. He stays a foot away, not touching Roman. Roman stares at him. Stewy raises his eyebrows expectantly. Roman swallows.</p><p>“Rome.”</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>“Don’t think about it.”</p><p>“Kinda hard not to fucking think about it when you’re right fucking—”</p><p>Stewy leans in and kisses him, hard. Roman makes a soft noise against his mouth, and then he’s kissing Stewy back, grabbing onto his shirt and pulling him in. </p><p><em>One more time,</em> he catches himself thinking.</p><p><em>Shut up,</em> he tells himself.</p>
<hr/><p>He takes a deep breath. If this is the last time (and it has to be the last time) he’s going to get to see Roman like this, he wants to enjoy it for as long as possible.</p><p>Roman’s shirt is still on, but it’s unbuttoned down to his collarbones. Stewy drags his eyes up Roman’s neck, from the hollow of his throat to his jaw. His cheeks are red, and he’s very intently not looking at Stewy. There are a few pink marks on the underside of his jaw, but they won’t last. Stewy knows better than that.</p><p>Not that anyone would need to see the hickeys to figure out what just happened—Roman looks exactly like he was just fucked into a mattress. The corner of Stewy’s mouth twitches, and suddenly he’s glad Roman isn’t looking at him.</p><p>Roman’s breathing has slowed down considerably. He looks almost relaxed (if it were possible for Roman to ever be relaxed). He still looks tired, but it’s no longer an edge-of-death kind of tired.</p><p>“Hey,” Stewy says quietly.</p><p>“Hi.”</p><p>“You good?”</p><p>“Why do you always ask me that?”</p><p>Stewy furrows his eyebrows. “Because it’s a decent thing to ask someone?”</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>“You’re not, ah—you’re not regretting it, are you?”</p><p>“Jesus.” Roman rolls his eyes and turns his head to look at Stewy. “No, dumbass. It was good. I’m not—are you that self-conscious about your sex skills?”</p><p>“Fuck off.”</p><p>He catches the slightest hint of a smile on Roman’s face.</p><p>Roman is still nervous to be with him. Stewy gets the feeling that it wouldn’t matter whether this was the first time, or the third time, or the hundredth time. Roman will still psych himself out every single time. Stewy doesn’t know what exactly it was that made Roman like this, but he guesses that the answer is “Nothing good.” </p><p>He wants to know. He wants Roman to open up to him. He wants to know what Roman has gone through in the past so that he can start to understand him. He wants to know that Roman feels comfortable with him—he thinks Roman feels comfortable, but he’s never sure, and every time he starts to feel certain about it, Roman does something that makes Stewy question himself all over again.</p><p>He wants to know, but he knows he shouldn’t ask, for his sake and for Roman’s. He shouldn’t ask, because if he does, he’s just going to get attached. Every question he asks Roman is an opportunity for Roman to grab him and pull him in just a little further. Stewy knows he can’t get much closer without losing his resolve entirely.</p><p>Which is why this has to be the last time.</p><p>“Can I say one more thing?” Stewy asks.</p><p>“I’m getting sick of your voice,” Roman mutters.</p><p>“I swear I’ll shut up afterwards.”</p><p>Roman sighs. “Fine.”</p><p>Stewy takes a moment to collect his thoughts, knowing that if he says one thing wrong, oversteps one line, Roman may actually end up committing a murder tonight.</p><p>“Look, I don’t—I’m not—” he tries, then starts again: “Sex is supposed to make you feel good, Rome. I’m not trying to be your fucking therapist. I’m just telling you. It’s not supposed to be—you’re not supposed to force yourself into it. You’re not supposed to do it because you feel like you have to.” He clears his throat. “That’s all.”</p><p>“Thank you, Dr. Oz.”</p><p>Stewy rolls his eyes. “I never said you have to listen to me.”</p><p>“I never do.” Roman looks up at the ceiling. “But look, douchebag. This isn’t—you’re not forcing me into this. You never have. I’m not—fuck you.” He groans. “It’s good. That’s all. It’s good. This is fine, and you’re fine, and everything is fucking fine.”</p><p>“Okay,” Stewy says.</p><p>He lets himself enjoy lying there for a few moments. It’s comforting, almost, having Roman in the same bed—even though he’d never admit it. He likes the feeling of Roman’s weight on the mattress, the sound of Roman’s soft breathing. He likes having someone else in bed with him. He likes it more when it’s Roman.</p><p>He silently curses himself. He knows he’s an  idiot. He knows he needs to cut himself off, but some fucked-up part of him, deep down inside, wants to pull Roman back in, to say fuck it and do this again, to say to hell with his limits and his plans. But he can’t. He doesn’t.</p><p>“It’s late,” Roman finally says.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“I should probably go.”</p><p><em>Please don’t,</em> he thinks.</p><p>“Yeah, probably,” he says.</p><p>Roman nods and sits up, running a hand through his hair and trying to fix the strands that are falling into his face. Stewy forces himself to look away. There’s some shuffling as Roman extracts himself from underneath the sheets, then fixes the buttons on his shirt.</p><p>“Stewy.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>There’s a beat, then a quiet, “Thank you.”</p><p>Stewy raises an eyebrow. “For what?”</p><p>“For…” Roman gestures around the room. “I dunno. Whatever.”</p><p>He moves closer to Roman and carefully reaches out a hand, pressing his fingertips against the small of Roman’s back. Roman tenses, then relaxes. Stewy flattens his hand, then slides it around to Roman’s hip. Roman’s arm moves, and Stewy expects to be pushed away, but it doesn’t happen. He feels Roman take a deep breath.</p><p>“Rome.”</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>“I know we’re not…” He clears his throat. “This isn’t, you know. It’s just for fun. But if there’s, like—if I can do anything…”</p><p>“There’s nothing for you to do.”</p><p>“I’m just saying.”</p><p>“I don’t need your help, Stewy.”</p><p>“I wasn’t saying that you do. This is me reaching out as a friend, Rome.”</p><p>“We’re not friends.”</p><p>Stewy drops his hand back onto the mattress. “Right.”</p><p>Roman pushes himself to his feet and grabs his wallet and phone from the nightstand. Stewy tries not to watch him. He focuses on the pillow next to him, eyes traveling across the stitching of the pillowcase.</p><p>“Stewy,” Roman says from the door.</p><p>Stewy looks up at him. Roman opens his mouth, then closes it again. Stewy sits up, the sheets falling down to his waist, and tries to make as neutral of an expression as possible. Roman rubs the back of his neck and shifts his weight.</p><p>“Look, I—I’m sorry. I wasn’t…” He sighs. “I’m sorry. I—I appreciate you, you know, reaching out, or whatever.”</p><p>Stewy forces back the shock that’s threatening to take over. He bites his lip and nods. “Yeah.”</p><p>“And thanks for, ah… for the stress relief.”</p><p>A smile tugs at the corner of Stewy’s mouth. “Any time,” he says before he can think better of it.</p><p>Roman looks like he might be about to say something else, but he doesn’t. He nods and says a quiet goodbye, and then he’s gone. </p><p>Stewy flops back onto the mattress and lets out a deep breath. </p><p><em>Three times,</em> he thinks.</p><p>Once again, he’s reached one of his limits, and every part of him is screaming to push it further. One more shot, one more drink, one more line. What’s it going to hurt? You can always have one more. One more never killed anybody.</p><p>One more almost killed him. One more almost killed Kendall (more than once). Which is why he stops.</p><p>He knows that one more, this time around, would kill him.</p>
<hr/><p>He’s sick and tired of the fucking Roy family fucking up everything. He’s sick and tired of them having their fingers in every aspect of the world—news, politics, entertainment, fucking theme parks.</p><p><em>The fall of an empire, my ass.</em> Even Logan Roy’s destruction can’t bring an end to all of this bullshit. If Logan’s gone, it’ll be someone else. If Logan survives, well, then it’s just fucking Logan again, with Kendall’s head on a stake outside the Waystar building.</p><p>Stewy has tried to avoid it as much as he can, but it’s impossible. It’s all anybody wants to talk about. It’s all that they’re talking about on the news, on Twitter, in face-to-face conversations. And they all want to know the gory details. They all assume Stewy knows something. He doesn’t know how many times he can tell people he doesn’t know jack shit before they finally start to believe him.</p><p>He’s tempted to just fuck off back to Greece for a few months until it all dies down. Go live on an island, cut off all contact with the outside world, throw his phone into the sea. It’s tempting. But he has shit to handle elsewhere that he’s not about to let Kendall Roy fuck up.</p><p>It’s not the fact that he doesn’t care about Kendall. It’s the fact that he can’t <em>stop</em> caring about Kendall.</p><p>As hard as he had tried, it isn’t exactly easy to completely cut off your best friend of thirty fucking years. He’s been with Kendall through all of it, and it’s weird to not be with him now. Stewy has always been in it for the money. He wouldn’t have joined Waystar if he hadn’t been promised a pretty penny. He wouldn’t have stuck with Sandy if it hadn’t benefitted him. And of course he had told Logan no when that fucker came to him asking about privatization. There was nothing left at Waystar that offered Stewy an advantage. It would’ve been like climbing out of a lifeboat to get back on the <em>Titanic</em>. </p><p>Stewy knows how to look out for himself. He puts his own interests first, above everything. But it’s hard not to think about Kendall, too—or Roman, for that matter, as painful as it is for him to admit.</p><p>Kendall still hasn’t called him. He had thought that he would, after the press conference. At least at some point, right? Stewy would have, if it was him. He tells himself he would have—he’s not a hundred percent sure it’s true.</p><p>But then again, he’s not even sure he’s completely forgiven Kendall for going back on him the way he did. He knows it was something Logan did. He knows there’s <em>something</em> the bastard was holding over Kendall that convinced him to switch sides. It was always the same story, but Stewy had never felt so blindsided. He had never expected Kendall to stab him in the back like that. So yeah, maybe he’s still harboring a bit of a grudge. As impressed as he was with Kendall’s performance, he’s still got a chip on his shoulder.</p><p>He still cares, though. He still wants to make sure Kendall’s okay. He doesn’t want anything to do with the Roy family—he’s managed to avoid all of them for a while now—but he can’t force himself to stop caring. He kind of hates himself for it.</p><p>Kendall hasn’t called him. Roman has.</p><p>He’s ignored every single one. </p><p>Not on purpose, he keeps trying to convince himself. He has dozens of excuses for not answering Roman’s calls. And besides, it’s not like he owes Roman anything. He doesn’t have any obligation to respond. But the guilt eats at him every time he declines another call, leaves another text unread.</p><p>He wonders what it’s like not to be mixed up with this shit. It’s his own fault, he supposes, for letting himself get dragged into Kendall’s bullshit for as long as he did. It’s his own fault for letting himself get caught up with Roman. Stewy likes to think of himself as intelligent, but a smarter man would’ve known how to say no.</p><p>And that’s the key point, though he pushes it away every time it comes to mind. He can’t say <em>no</em>. If he answers a call, and Roman asks him, he won’t be able to say no. If he ghosts him completely, then there’s nothing to say no to. </p><p>He still feels guilty, though. And then he hates himself for feeling guilty. And then he pours himself another drink.</p><p>His phone has been lighting up with messages all night. He’s avoided them as much as he can, but they just keep coming. </p><p>But with each text and each sip of alcohol, he’s weakening. Despite the fact that he knows it’s only going to get worse, he takes another sip and opens his messages. </p><p>Unread, at the top of the screen, two words: <em>come over?</em></p><p>It’s just one text. One text out of a hundred that he’s already ignored. He should be able to say no. He should be able to put his phone down and never even respond. He should be able to move past it.</p><p>He stares at the screen until the text is burned into his eyelids when he closes his eyes.</p><p>He tries to tell himself not to. He’s held out this long, and if he gives in now, that’s it. Game over. There’s no hope for him.</p><p>There’s a pros and cons list in his head, one that he made for himself ages ago, before he had even slept with Roman for the first time. The cons outweigh the pros seven to one. Deep down, he knows that nothing good can ever come out of this. </p><p>But he can’t stop caring.</p><p>If he couldn’t save Kendall, he thinks, maybe he can still save Roman. Maybe there’s a chance to do something good for once.</p><p><em>Fuck it,</em> he thinks.</p><p>He’s weak. He’s a fucking coward. He doesn’t know how to restrain himself. He doesn’t know how to adhere to his own limits. He doesn’t have any fucking discipline. He’s weak, and he knows it. He doesn’t care.</p><p>
  <em>On my way.</em>
</p><p>Roman buzzes him in almost immediately. The trip from the lobby up to Roman’s apartment takes an eternity. Stewy stares at his distorted reflection on the elevator door. It feels as though he’s barely moving upwards, and he whispers a silent prayer for the elevator to stop. Then he can claim it was some force outside of his control. That way he’ll know there’s something out there—God, fate, faulty elevator motors—that’s telling him to stop. </p><p>The elevator opens on Roman’s floor. </p><p>The door swings open two seconds after Stewy knocks. Roman looks up at him, looking for all the world like he just came back from the dead. There are dark circles under his eyes, and he’s even paler than usual. He stands in front of Stewy in socked feet. His shirt buttons are mismatched—there’s an extra one at the top.</p><p>“Hi,” Stewy says carefully.</p><p>“Hi.” Roman steps back to let him in. “Long time no see.”</p><p>“Yeah.” He thinks he should apologize. He doesn’t.</p><p>He looks around the apartment as he follows Roman inside. It’s cold, both the temperature and the decor—all grays and whites and blacks, an uncomfortable looking couch, soulless art on the walls. It looks staged, like a space out of a movie—the rich villain’s lair, the place he goes when he wants to entertain guests and pretend to be an upstanding member of society. </p><p>“Roman,” he says, “why am I here?”</p><p>“I—” Roman stops in the living room, his back to Stewy. “You saw the news, I’m assuming.”</p><p>“Yeah, I saw the news.” </p><p>“We’re—Kendall, he—my dad—” Roman’s shoulders stiffen. Every muscle in his back is tensed; Stewy can see them through his shirt. “I just need—”</p><p>“Rome?”</p><p>“You’re the only person I could think to ask,” he says, just loud enough for Stewy to hear. “I need—”</p><p>He turns around to face Stewy. </p><p>“I need…” he trails off, but his eyes tell Stewy everything he needs to know.</p><p>“Roman.”</p><p>“Stewy, please.” Roman’s voice is soft. “I—fuck. I need this. I need you.”</p><p>He’s never seen Roman like this. He never imagined Roman could get like this. He looks like a different person. He looks uncertain. He looks <em>scared</em>. </p><p>Stewy’s walls are crumbling. With every second that ticks by, his resolve weakens further. Roman is <em>begging</em> him, he realizes. Roman is begging him to do something, to grab his hand and pull him out of the whirlpool, to give him something else to focus on.</p><p>“Roman.”</p><p>“Please.”</p><p>“Come here.”</p><p>Roman takes a step towards him. Stewy grabs his shirt and pulls him in, wrapping his arms tightly around him. </p><p>Roman is shaking. He buries his face against Stewy’s neck. His breath is warm against Stewy’s skin. Stewy leans his head against Roman’s, closing his eyes. Roman’s arms find their place around Stewy’s waist, and he grips the back of Stewy’s jacket so hard he thinks it might rip. </p><p>Stewy’s heart is in his throat.</p><p>“Roman,” he whispers.</p><p>Roman takes a deep breath. </p><p>“Roman,” he says again. “Sweetheart.”</p><p>Roman tenses in his arms. Stewy loosens his grip, but Roman grabs tighter. </p><p>“You’re okay.”</p><p>Roman nods against Stewy’s neck, then steps backwards. He sniffles as he drags his sleeve across his cheeks. Stewy watches. He doesn’t reach for him again. Roman swallows and looks to the side.</p><p>“Fuck,” Roman says softly. </p><p>“Rome?”</p><p>“Fuck it. Fuck it.” Roman meets his eyes. “Fuck all of it.”</p><p>“Rome.”</p><p>“I’m done.” He squares his shoulders and lifts his chin. “I’m fucking done with it. I can’t—I’m not doing it any longer.”</p><p>Stewy can’t bring himself to ask what <em>it</em> Roman is talking about. </p><p>“All my fucking life, I thought—fuck. Fuck. I’m not—I’m not—” He shakes his head. “I can’t do it. I’m not going back there. He can’t make me. He can’t.”</p><p>He’s still shaking. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides. Stewy takes half a step back. Roman looks like he’s about to explode. Stewy doesn’t want to be inside the blast radius when he does.</p><p>“I’m not doing it.”</p><p>“Okay,” Stewy says cautiously.</p><p>“Stewy.”</p><p>“Right here.”</p><p>Roman looks at him. Stewy’s breath catches in his throat.</p><p>He knows what Roman wants. He knows he needs it just as badly as Roman does. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. He can’t. He can’t do it. He can’t give in, not this time, not again. He’s given in too many times already.</p><p>Roman is staring at him when he opens his eyes. Stewy opens his mouth. Roman’s eyes are pleading. “Stewy.”</p><p>Stewy nods.</p><p>“Please.”</p><p>He closes the distance between them and kisses Roman. </p><p>Roman barely has a chance to kiss back before Stewy registers what he’s doing, what it means. He sprints right up to the edge of the cliff, but he skids to a stop just before going over.</p><p>“Fuck.” He pulls away. “Roman, I can’t—I need to—”</p><p>“What the fuck?”</p><p>He knows every word he’s about to say might push Roman over the edge. He knows that Roman might not be able to handle it. He can barely handle it. But he needs to. He needs to know. He needs to push one last time. He needs to push <em>now</em>, because if he doesn’t do it now, it’s over for him.</p><p>Stewy swallows and steps back. “Look. If we—if we do this, if this happens right now—”</p><p>“Is it not currently fucking happening?”</p><p>“If this happens right now,” Stewy continues, “it’s officially a thing. It’s—this isn’t, like, just a fucking… one-night stand, or casual, or fucking friends with benefits or whatever the fuck we are.”</p><p>“What the fuck are you talking about? That’s not—”</p><p>“If we do this, I’m not going to be able—fuck. Fuck, Roman.” He almost laughs. </p><p>“Are you saying you don’t want to?”</p><p>“No!” He shakes his head. “I’m not—no. I’m not saying that. I’m saying… god. Fuck. Jesus.” He runs a hand through his hair. The words are stumbling out of his mouth, choppy and confused. He’s not sure anything he’s saying is even intelligible. “I want to. I’ve wanted to every single fucking time. There’s never—I never would have said no to you. If you had asked me, I would have said yes every single fucking time.”</p><p>He’s weak. He’s fucking weak, and he knows it, and now Roman knows it too. It doesn’t matter if he sets limits for himself. He knew he was going to break them from the moment Roman first kissed him. But he had lied to himself, had convinced himself that it was going to be different.</p><p>“What the fuck are you saying, Stewy?” </p><p>“I’m saying that I can’t just sleep with you and move on with my life, you fucking prick.”</p><p>“What—”</p><p>“I can’t do this and move on.”</p><p>“Stewy—”</p><p>“Because, despite your best efforts—” His and Roman’s both, he’s now realizing, their collective efforts to push each other away— “I still fucking care about you, asshole. I still <em>like</em> you.”</p><p>Roman opens his mouth, but Stewy holds up a hand before he says anything.</p><p>“Despite the fact that I want to hate you. I’ve wanted to hate you for about as long as I can remember. I didn’t want to like you, Roman. Believe me. I still don’t.” He takes a breath. “But I do. I care about you, you fucking prick. I—fuck you.” He lifts his hands, clenches his fists, then drops them back down to his sides. “I didn’t want to like you, and I’m pretty sure you didn’t want to like me either. This wasn’t supposed—we’re not supposed to be a thing! It should have been a one-time thing. It should have never happened at all.”</p><p>He shouldn’t have given in. He should have held out, like he had for years. He shouldn’t have let himself try it once, because he should have known that as soon as he had tried it once, he was never going to stop wanting more. </p><p>He had let himself give it one chance, and that had been all his stupid brain had needed to start needing more, like Roman was a drug that Stewy had let himself try, and now he was constantly chasing the high, constantly trying to break himself of the habit.</p><p>He needs a cigarette. He needs a drink. He needs to be anywhere but here.</p><p>Roman is staring at him, apparently speechless for once in his goddamn life. For once in his goddamn life, he doesn’t have some snarky comment. Stewy wishes he did. </p><p>“Stewy—”</p><p>“Don’t.” Stewy shakes his head. “I—fuck you, Roman. I care about you. A lot. And you can tell me to go fuck myself, or call me a fag, or punch me in the face, or demand that I never speak to you again, and—” He runs a hand through his hair, laughs humorlessly. “You can do all of that, but it doesn’t change the fact that I care about you, and I like you, and I want—fuck. It’s not going to change. Believe me, I’ve fucking tried.”</p><p>Roman has gone completely still. His eyes drop to the floor. His jaw is clenched. His shoulders are tensed. Stewy isn’t even completely sure that he’s breathing.</p><p>“Why the fuck did you ask me to come here?” Stewy asks.</p><p>“Because—”</p><p>“Because you know I care about you, asshole. Because maybe somewhere deep down in that fucking black hole of a soul of yours, you know I care, and you need me just as badly as I need you.” He takes a shaky breath. “I need you, you piece of shit.”</p><p>Stewy’s heart is pounding. There’s blood rushing in his ears. He can’t catch his breath. He doesn’t want to know what’s going through Roman’s head right now. He wants Roman to say something. Roman doesn’t say anything.</p><p>“Fuck, Roman. Fuck.”</p><p>Roman still says nothing.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Stewy says. There are tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He refuses to let them fall. He refuses to make himself look weak. “For everything. For—for all of it.” He forces himself to swallow before saying, “I should go. I should—I’ll…”</p><p>He’s halfway to the door before he hears a quiet “Don’t.”</p><p>Stewy stops in his tracks, but he doesn’t turn around. </p><p>Neither of them moves. The silence weighs on him, filling the air and pushing into his lungs. He counts the seconds in his head.</p><p>He gets to forty-three when he hears Roman take a step towards him.</p><p>He keeps his back to Roman—he doesn’t want to do anything that will scare him away. He doesn’t know if he can face him. He knows he can’t look into Roman’s eyes and repeat anything he just told him. It’s all out in the open now, for Roman to take it or leave it.</p><p>“Stewy.” Roman’s voice is soft. Stewy closes his eyes. “Don’t—please don’t leave.” The <em>please</em> comes out choked, like he’s forcing it. “You can’t—don’t be a fucking coward, you fucking asshole. You can’t just…” he trails off. “You can’t tell me all of that bullshit and then leave. That’s not how it works. You don’t get to—you don’t get to say all of that and then walk out, you fucking prick.”</p><p>Stewy nods slowly. His blood is racing in his ears.</p><p>“Would you fucking look at me?”</p><p>He turns around.</p><p>Roman is standing a few feet away from him. His fists are clenched at his sides, and his expression is twisted into something Stewy recognizes from all of the times he’s pissed Roman off in the past. It’s always been the same face when Roman gets mad. For a second, he looks younger, replaced by the angry kid Stewy knew when he was sixteen.</p><p>“You’re a fucking prick, you know that?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Stewy says. </p><p>“You’re fucking unbelievable.”</p><p>He nods.</p><p>“You’re—fuck you, Hosseini, you’re—fuck. Fuck you. Fuck you, you selfish fucking asshole. Fuck you and your stupid fucking hair and your stupid fucking suits and your stupid fucking—Jesus Christ. Fuck you.”</p><p>Roman surges forward, grabs Stewy by the jacket, and kisses him.</p><p>Before Stewy’s brain even has time to register what’s happening, he’s wrapping his arms around Roman’s waist and kissing him back. He’s grabbing onto the back of Roman’s shirt, fists clenched around the fabric, and he’s pulling Roman in and holding onto him for dear life and kissing him. He kisses him, and he kisses him, and he kisses him.</p><p>Stewy falls off the cliff. </p><p>He feels more like he’s flying.</p>
<hr/><p>“I hope you’re not expecting me to fucking cuddle with you.”</p><p>Stewy smiles tiredly. “Of course not.”</p><p>Roman is looking at him when he turns his head. A piece of hair is falling over Roman’s eyes, and Stewy resists the urge to brush it away. He runs a hand through his own hair instead, then rolls over onto his side. Roman looks back up at the ceiling, moving one arm behind his head.</p><p>“Rome,” he says. </p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“You okay?”</p><p>Roman rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I’m good.”</p><p>“You sure?”</p><p>“Yes, I’m sure.”</p><p>Stewy studies him carefully. “What did you mean before?”</p><p>“What did I mean when?”</p><p>“When you said you’re not doing it anymore.”</p><p>Roman lets out a long breath. “I’m done. With the fucking—with everything. With the business.”</p><p>“You’re done,” Stewy says stupidly.</p><p>“I was never cut out for this shit anyway.” His tone is nonchalant, but Stewy can hear the uncertainty underneath it. “Besides, I never fucking did anything wrong. My dad can take all the hits he wants. I’m done.”</p><p>A smile tugs at the corner of Stewy’s mouth. “Yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“I’m proud of you, Rome.”</p><p>“Shut the fuck up.”</p><p>The smile wins. Stewy leans over and presses a kiss to Roman’s temple. Roman shoves him away, but there’s no anger behind it.</p><p>“So, you <em>like</em> me, huh?” Roman asks with a devilish smile.</p><p>Stewy rolls his eyes. “Shut the fuck up.”</p><p>“You care about me.” His tone is light, but there’s something underneath it, too. “You like me, Hosseini! Like a fucking teenage girl.” He giggles.</p><p>Stewy looks at him, unamused. “Shut up.”</p><p>“Stewy Hosseini has a crush on me.”</p><p>“I never fucking said that!”</p><p>“Did you write it in your diary?” Roman grins. “Roman plus Stewy equals true love. Stewy Roy. Roman Hosseini. My name in a little heart.”</p><p>“Shut the fuck up,” Stewy groans.</p><p>“Just admit you have a crush on me and I will.” </p><p>“I don’t have a crush on you!” Stewy’s cheeks are warm.</p><p>“You said it yourself!” </p><p>Stewy sits up and whacks Roman’s shoulder. “You’re a fucking idiot.”</p><p>“Like I haven’t heard that before.”</p><p>“You’re insufferable.”</p><p>“Oh, I know.” Roman’s eyes are bright.</p><p>Stewy quirks an eyebrow. “You’re a fucking menace, you know that? Bane of my fucking existence.”</p><p>Roman nods, looking incredibly pleased with himself. “Yeah, but you have <em>feelings</em> for me.” He drags out the word <em>feelings</em>, letting it linger on his tongue.</p><p>“Prick.”</p><p>Stewy lays back and lets out a heavy sigh. Roman is still smiling, the corners of his mouth twitching. He looks happier right now than he’s looked in about as long as Stewy can remember. Despite himself, a rush of warmth fills Stewy’s chest.</p><p>“You’re so fucking annoying,” he says fondly. </p><p>“Stewy.”</p><p>“What the fuck do you want?”</p><p>Roman leans over and kisses him. Stewy’s heart jumps into his throat. He moves his hand up to Roman’s jaw, fingertips just barely brushing over his skin. Roman moves himself over to straddle Stewy’s hips, his hands pressing into the pillow on either side of Stewy’s head. Stewy grabs onto Roman’s shirt with his other hand, pulling him down closer.</p><p>It’s different from Roman’s usual kisses. It’s less frantic, less intense—it’s almost lazy, the way Roman is slowly moving his mouth against Stewy’s. It’s almost comfortable.</p><p>He’s lost count of the number of times he’s kissed Roman. At the start, every single kiss had been something to remember. The first time he kissed Roman: the apprehension as Roman responded, the way his hands shook and the way he pulled Stewy in closer. The first time Roman had kissed him: the explosion in his chest, feeling like he was right on the brink of death and Roman was pulling him into it. </p><p>But he had lost track of them somewhere along the way. He had shut that part of his brain off, tried to not think about the fact that he was kissing Roman fucking Roy.</p><p>He’s kissing Roman fucking Roy.</p><p>Roman fucking Roy is kissing him.</p><p>Stewy’s heart is clawing its way up his throat.</p><p>Roman pulls away, and Stewy reluctantly opens his eyes. Roman is staring down at him, and there’s a slight smile on his lips. Stewy bites his lip to keep himself from returning it.</p><p>“God, you’re the worst,” Roman mutters as he leans back in and kisses Stewy again.</p><p>After another minute, Roman rolls off of Stewy and onto his back, letting out a huff. Stewy turns onto his side and props himself up on his elbow.</p><p>“Roman.” His mouth is dry.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Are we, like…” Stewy clears his throat. “Are we, ah, in agreement that this is, like… this is a thing?”</p><p>Roman raises an eyebrow. “What’s a thing?”</p><p>“This.”</p><p>“You’re gonna have to be more specific.” There’s a glint in his eyes.</p><p>Stewy’s cheeks are warm. He gestures helplessly between them. “Us. Whatever—whatever the fuck we are. This is—it’s not—”</p><p>“Jesus Christ, Hosseini. Spit it out.”</p><p>“Are we together?”</p><p>The silence only lasts a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity. Roman tilts his head, studying Stewy. Stewy suddenly feels incredibly vulnerable. He drops his gaze and rubs the back of his neck. </p><p>He’s fucked. He is truly and completely and totally fucked. </p><p>This is why he sets limits. This is why he doesn’t let himself sleep with anyone more times than he should. This is why he stops himself. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him this time around. He can’t figure out why it’s different. He can’t figure out why Roman is different.</p><p>He can feel Roman’s eyes on him.</p><p>“...fuck you, you fucking bastard.”</p><p>Stewy swallows and looks up, an apology forming on his lips. Roman shakes his head.</p><p>“I guess we are. Jesus Christ. Fucking—fuck you. I guess we are.”</p><p>Stewy looks at him in disbelief. Roman rolls his eyes, and Stewy starts to smile. </p><p>“You don’t have to look so fucking happy about it,” Roman grumbles.</p><p>Stewy laughs in surprise, then grabs Roman by the shirt and pulls him in. Roman mutters a few more insults, but when Stewy kisses him, he kisses back.</p><p>They don’t make sense. Nothing about them or this situation makes sense. There’s no logical explanation as to why they ended up here.</p><p>But for some reason, they work. For some reason, Roman fits perfectly against him. For some reason, Roman has invaded Stewy’s brain and refused to be kicked out. It doesn’t make sense, and if Stewy thinks about it too much, his head will probably explode. He feels that way a lot when he’s around Roman.</p><p>Of course Roman was the one to push Stewy’s limits. No one else has the ability to be quite as fucking obnoxious as Roman Roy. He’s loud and pushy and privileged and whiny and a complete and total asshole, and Stewy can’t make himself look away. At some point, he had to give up the fight.</p><p>Stewy’s not good with feelings. He’s not good with relationships. So he doesn’t try. But something about Roman makes him want to give it a shot. It’s probably stupid—he knows it’s stupid, in fact. But he’s already burned all of his other bridges. And Roman’s now the one holding the match.</p><p>If Roman’s out for good, then maybe that’s the end. Maybe the empire is truly falling, and Stewy can sit back and watch it burn—but this time, he doesn’t have anything left inside to care about. Because despite his best attempts not to, he does care about Kendall. He cares about Roman. And they managed to get themselves out, for the time being. So let it burn, he thinks. It’ll be a nice show.</p><p>He doesn’t consider himself Roman’s savior. He’s not stupid enough to believe that—Stewy could never be the hero of the story. Roman did this by himself. </p><p>Maybe this is just another act of rebellion. Maybe this is Roman testing the waters, seeing what it feels like to truly betray everything his father expects from him. Stewy feels like he should care about being used. He doesn’t.</p><p>If they both go up in flames, at least he has this to remember.</p><p>But something about the way that Roman kisses him tells him otherwise. He doesn’t understand everything about Roman—he understands basically nothing about Roman. But he understands this. He understands why Roman asked him to come over, why Roman stopped him from leaving, why Roman kissed him and brought him to bed again. </p><p>Roman needs him.</p><p>Stewy’s never had anything like that before. Roman is an anomaly, in every sense of the word. But he needs Stewy, and Stewy, at this point, realizes that there’s no reason not to give in. He could’ve given in months ago and saved himself some trouble. But he’s here now, and whatever Roman says, he’s not letting go.</p><p>Call it a sinking ship, an explosion, a forest fire—whatever it is, Stewy is on the outside, and for right now, he’s got Roman with him. He might not be able to save Roman, but he can be there to help Roman save himself. </p><p>Roman still falls asleep with his back to Stewy. But this time, he’s just a little closer, and when Stewy reaches out a hand and places it on his arm, he doesn’t flinch.</p><p>Stewy takes a deep breath and lets himself relax. He can make this work. It’s not like he hasn’t pushed himself past his limits before. If Roman is going to kill him, at least he’ll die with a smile on his face.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this was really entirely self-indulgent because i just want roman to be gay and happy. thanks to whoever is reading this because it's such a niche ship and i never thought i'd get even like 10 reads on any of these fics &lt;3 if you liked it please leave kudos and comments and you can follow me on tumblr @vaguelyprophetic</p></blockquote></div></div>
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